Rumor Has It
by Katerinaki
Summary: Clint has a girlfriend, except nobody bothered to tell Natasha Romanoff. It wouldn't normally be a problem, except Natasha is always compromised for Clint. BlackHawk
1. Chapter 1

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written By: Katerinaki

Published: June 30, 2012

Beta'ed: No

Summary: Clint has a girlfriend, except nobody bothered to tell Natasha Romanoff. It wouldn't normally be a problem, except Natasha is always compromised for Clint. BlackHawk

Part 1

When Natasha Romanoff's Quinjet landed on the helicopter pad at the SHIELD Headquarters in New York, she couldn't have been more relieved. It had certainly been a difficult mission. She never got used to the heat of the desert, not like Clint could. Maybe it was just the Russian blood in her veins. And when it finally came time to take out her target, the weapons dealer had decided to lead her on a merry chase through the world's largest marketplace, The Grand Bazaar in Tehran. She'd made his death a bit more drawn out for that, but the scum of the Earth deserved it. He was selling missiles to terrorists who targeted innocents exclusively.

Right now what she wanted was a nice cool shower to get the dust and sand off her and then perhaps she could find Barton and they'd have a movie night or something. He was usually okay for that, especially after one or both of them just returned from a mission.

Agent Hill met her at the elevator down. She welcomed Natasha back and they passed the ride to the debriefing room in silence. The atmosphere in the elevator felt charged. Hill had taken over for Coulson after New York and the agent was good at her job. She was always ahead of the game, got things done even if they seemed impossible, and could multitask in her sleep. But she wasn't Phil Coulson which was why the two-minute ride felt like two hours. They met Fury in the debriefing room and Natasha gave her detailed report on the hit. Fury preferred to debrief her and Clint directly now, though before the task had always fallen to Phil. It wasn't that he didn't trust Hill; again she just wasn't Coulson.

When Natasha finished Fury gave her a nod of approval. "Good work, Agent Romanoff."

"Thank you, sir," she replied.

"I'm scheduling you for some down time. With five missions in a row, successfully completed, you've earned it."

"Thank you, sir."

Natasha showered in the SHIELD locker room and changed into civilian clothes before taking one of the SHIELD vehicles. Ever since the attack on Manhattan and the formation of the Avengers, Natasha had taken to living out of Stark Tower. She hadn't wanted to at first, but Fury pointed out that it would make it easier to assemble the team if they were all in one place. And then Clint pointed out that with all her missions, she didn't tend to stay in one place that often anyways. Tony was offering free room and board, which meant she didn't have to pay a landlord for an apartment that she rarely slept in. Banner was already staying with Stark, working in his R&D department. Rogers had transferred out of the 1940s world SHIELD created for him and was also staying with Stark, though this was apparently more at Pepper's urging. Thor sometimes stopped in, and when he did he too had a place at Stark Tower. Natasha and Clint had been the odd men out. A bit more wheedling on Pepper's part meant Clint agreed, and so Natasha had begrudgingly taken the large bedroom and en suite bathroom.

When she stepped off the private elevator, that Stark had "graciously" allowed them access to, she found Stark and Banner reclining on the leather couch, watching Stark's ridiculously large flat screen TV, dressed in suits and drinking a couple of beers.

"Agent Romanoff," Stark greeted her, sinking back and crossing his legs up on the coffee table. "And here I thought you were dead and Fury just didn't have the guts to tell anyone."

"Stark," Natasha replied. She smiled at Banner. "Hello, Bruce."

"Natasha," Bruce nodded back.

"How are you doing?"

Banner smiled in her nervous way. "Fine. No incidents since you left."

"Yeah it's been boring as hell. Like watching kiddie show re-runs. And why is _he_ allowed to be called 'Bruce' but I always get '_Stark'_?" He hardened his face, mocking Natasha's normally neutral expression.

Natasha ignored him, sitting on one of the armchairs and snagging an unopened beer. She flicked the lid off on the edge of Stark's shoe and took a long, refreshing pull.

"Hey, that's Italian leather!" Stark protested, jumping to examine his still pristine dress shoe.

"So where is everyone else?" Natasha asked Banner, once more choosing to ignore Stark. "And why are you all dressed up? Going somewhere?"

"Steve is getting ready; he just got back from a run," Banner said. "Thor went back to Asgard a few months ago, some business with Nornheim?"

Natasha shrugged. She never knew what Thor's duties were beyond his stays on Earth and after a while she chose to operate on a need-to-know basis. It wasn't very spy-like of her, but it would save her the hours of Thor's booming about realms Natasha would likely never see or have any sort of contact with. If they threatened Earth, then she cared.

"And Clint?" she asked, taking another swig. She preferred a nice vodka, but after five months in the field with only a few sips of champagne every now and again, she'd put up with the beer. Maybe later she and Clint could move on to the heftier stuff.

"Oh, you don't know," Stark piped up, suddenly interested again. Natasha's eyes narrowed at his smug expression. "Know what?" she asked, her voice low and threatening.

"Barton—"

The private elevator pinged and the man in question stepped out, dressed just as formally as Stark and Banner. But that wasn't what made Natasha's jaw drop. On his arm, dressed in a sleek, dark emerald green cocktail dress, was a girl.

"Hey guys, you remember—"Clint's voice cut out as he caught sight of Natasha, beer in hand forgotten as she stared at the girl on his arm.

"—has a girlfriend," Stark finished in the stunned silence.

She was short, maybe five feet tall, and thin. Natasha thought she might be able to reach over and just snap her arm with one hand. How the girl managed to even hold up her own body weight was a mystery. She had slender features and big green eyes and her golden blonde hair fell in perfect waves framing her face and down her back. She had a tan, but not a fake, tanning bed tan. It was the kind of soft browning that came from just enough time out in the sun, but not so much that it suggested she only spent her day by a poolside. It was the sort of tan that Natasha could never get; the curse of her Russian blood. In short, the girl who smiled at the entire group, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air, was perfect. And she was everything Natasha wasn't.

At that moment, Pepper came into the room, dressed in a blue cocktail dress of her own. Pepper, ever the diplomat, broke the silence with a wide, genuine smile.

"You must be Jacqueline." She strode forward and extended a hand to the little girl, who upon second glance didn't look more than eighteen or nineteen.

Jacqueline smiled with perfectly straight, white teeth. "Please, call me Jacqui," she insisted in soft, French-lilted English. Of course, she would be French too. Clint always went dopey-eyed over the French girls when they had missions there.

"Of course. I'm Pepper," Pepper replied graciously. "And you've met Tony, and this is Dr. Bruce Banner."

"Nice to meet you," Banner said, getting up to shake the girl's hand quickly. It looked like he thought the same thing Natasha did because he barely touched Jacqueline's hand. It was like he would break it off if he shook it properly.

"And this is—"

Clint chose that moment to break out of his stupor. "Natasha," he blurted out. Everyone looked at him in surprise, but Natasha instinctively rolled with his blunder. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Natasha Romanoff," she introduced herself, standing and shaking Jacqueline's hand, purposefully ignoring Clint, who kept trying to draw her attention.

"Oh, Natasha!" Jacqueline chimed. "Clint told me so much about you! But he said you were away on business?"

"I was," Natasha confirmed. "I finished early and thought I'd surprise everyone. But it looks like _I'm_ the one who is surprised." She saw Clint wince out of the corner of her eye, but forged on. "So where are you all going?"

"Oh, Pepper suggested we go to the new Mediterranean restaurant a few blocks from here. Nashwa, you said?"

"That's it," Pepper said. "If you're too tired, Natasha, we'll understand…"

"No, of course not," Natasha replied, smiling. "Let me get changed into something a little more appropriate. I'll be back quickly."

She passed Steve as she left the living room. "Natasha, when did you get back?" he asked, startled.

"Just now," Natasha muttered, pushing past him. She made it to her room before she lost control. Thank God Stark believed in privacy in the bedroom because the first thing she did was pick up the nearest object, which happened to be a decorative vase, and throw it. The glass had hardly shattered against the far wall before Natasha had a lamp and it met the same fate. If the walls hadn't been soundproofed, they might've heard and come running from the living room. But Stark had pulled out all the stops and they didn't hear a peep from her. Natasha wasn't stupid enough to punch the wall, but she threw around a few more things before her hand found the photo frame. She hesitated.

It was a photo of her and Clint, taken during leave just after the mission to Beijing. They were laughing about something, what Natasha didn't remember anymore. But she did remember the feeling. Sighing heavily, she set the photo back down on her nightstand and sunk onto the Queen-size bed, her head falling into her hands. Looking around at the trashed room, Natasha snorted.

"So much for not being compromised," she said, to nobody in particular. Oh, she was compromised. She was always compromised for Clint. In Nigeria, in Calcutta, in St. Petersburg, in Budapest. When Loki used Clint, when he spat those horrible things at her because he'd learned them from Clint, she had been compromised. She tried to tell herself it was the red in her ledger. He spared her; she owed him a debt. Never mind that the debt had likely been paid off years ago. She always carried the red because _he_ carried red. They were soaked in it together.

Seeing her on his arm…Natasha had called on all of her training and control not to add more red. Listening to her talk with her French accent and her soft voice, her warm smile and her big green eyes. It felt like she'd been shot. The only thing that would've made it worse was if Clint himself had shot the arrow. It was almost like he did.

Why hadn't he told her? Clint had _always_ been there when she returned from a mission. The only exception was when he was on a mission himself. But he always checked in as soon as he could. She did the same thing for him. She'd risked cover plenty of times to get even one word back. They'd communicated a few times while she'd been in the field for the last ten months, but not in the last two. Natasha couldn't help but think that maybe she should've known what was going on. She should've realized something was up when he didn't contact her, when Hill met her in the elevator and not him.

_Barton always had a thing for blondes_, she thought. She'd seen it a few times, when his eye would linger just a bit longer. She never held it against him; after all Clint was still a _guy_. But it did make her curious, to the point that she'd worn a blonde wig when they had been undercover in Berlin. She claimed it was to help her get in with the neo-Nazi group she was infiltrating, but it had made her smile when Clint had coughed in surprise as she'd come out and his eyes lingered just a bit longer than usual.

There was a knock on her door and Natasha sprang off her bed, instinctively rearranging her expression into one of neutrality. Thankfully she hadn't cried emotionally since she was five. A few waterworks were fine when it came to softening a target up, but Natasha didn't cry because she was angry or sad. Never again.

"Natasha, are you alright?" It was Pepper. Natasha had a second to cross to the door and poke her head out before Pepper opened it herself and saw the destruction.

"Sorry, just had a bit of difficulty choosing. I'm finishing up," she told Pepper.

Pepper frowned, obviously concerned. "Are you sure you're alright? I know it must've been a bit of a shock; we forget that you've been gone for a while."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Pepper, this is _me_ you're talking to. Nothing surprises me. Just give me a few more minutes and I'll be done."

Pepper opened her mouth, ready to insist on something, but she chose better of it. "Okay," she nodded. "We'll be just in the living room."

Natasha closed the door and scrambled to get changed. She chose a black dress that clung perhaps a bit more than necessary, but had a convenient flare in the skirt. The back was almost completely open, ending just under the small of her back. Natasha styled her short, red hair curly and painted on some make-up. After going back and forth for a moment, she opted to strap one of her small handguns to her thigh. The skirt would fall nicely and conceal it, and you never knew when one might come in handy. She chose a pair of black, strappy heels that had almost a three-inch rise before leaving her room and returning to the living room.

She hid a smirk as Stark and Rogers's jaws dropped to the floor. Banner suddenly became interested in a small scuff on his shoes. Clint coughed, his equivalent of Stark and Rogers's reactions, and Pepper smiled at her as soon as she made her entrance. There was a knowing look in the CEO's eye.

"Oh, I absolutely love your dress!" Jacqueline exclaimed.

"Thank you," Natasha replied, and in that moment she decided exactly what she was going to do. She strut across Stark's living room like it was a runway in Paris or Milan and took Jacqueline's other arm, pulling her away from Clint and into the elevator. "You _must_ tell me where you got _your_ dress. I love the color."

Clint was left stuck, standing just inside the living room and watching Natasha and Jacqueline chatter on about designers and collections. Rogers and Banner passed him into the elevator, followed by Pepper. Stark paused, making no effort to hide the way he was checking out both girls.

"You're screwed, Robin Hood," he muttered, patting Clint across the back before joining the others in the elevator.

"Clint, are you coming?" Jacqueline called.

"Yeah Clint, we're all waiting," Stark added sarcastically.

Clint had no choice but to join the others in the elevator. He tried to keep focused on a conversation with Rogers, but he couldn't help but watch Natasha, Jacqueline, and now Pepper as they chattered on in the corner. He saw Natasha glance up in his direction as Jacqueline talked with Pepper and that was when he caught it. Through the polite smile, he saw the glint in the Black Widow's eye. Anyone else would've missed it, but Clint was Natasha's partner. He'd seen that look before, just as she was engaging a target.

_Fuck_.


	2. Chapter 2

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written By: Katerinaki

Published: July 3, 2012

Beta'ed: No

Summary: Clint has a girlfriend, except nobody bothered to tell Natasha Romanoff. It wouldn't normally be a problem, except Natasha is always compromised for Clint. BlackHawk

**Note: Thank you so much to all those who reviewed and favourited and followed this story. I don't like to do Author's Notes, but I felt that you all deserved a huge Thank You. Your reviews drove this second part along. -Katerinaki**

Part 2

It was a disaster, and Clint was the only one who knew it. The dinner had gone great. The food had been good and everyone seemed to like Jacqueline. They'd managed to get through the entire meal without a single thing going wrong. Rogers hadn't asked any odd questions, Banner hadn't needed to step out to cool off, and even Stark had been tactful enough about his comments. Jacqueline had been nervous about meeting the Avengers, but they'd all been on their best behaviour. So where was the disaster?

Natasha hadn't strayed more than a few feet from Jacqueline the entire night. Clint only ever saw her hang that close to someone when the person was a mark. By the end of the night, Natasha knew that Jacqueline was born in Paris, but grew up in Saint-Lys outside Toulouse. She knew that Jacqueline's full name was Jacqueline Abelle Duval and that her parents were Yvonne and Gerard. She had an older sister, Violette, who was twenty-six, and a model, and a younger sister, Nicole, who was seventeen and still in school. She knew that Jacqueline herself was twenty-four and that she was an aspiring actress, which was how she met Clint. They'd been at a benefit that Stark threw in Los Angeles. Clint had to suppress a cringe each time Natasha got more and more personal information from Jacqueline. By the end of the night, she even knew that Jacqueline's family had a dog, named Roul which meant 'wise wolf', but it had been hit by a car when Jacqueline was twelve.

He tried to steer the conversation away from Jacqueline, but it was no use. Everyone already knew everything about each other, but they didn't know Jacqueline. That was the whole point of the outing anyways, so that the Avengers got to know the girl Clint had been dating for the last two months. The girl who'd not only captured his attention, but enraptured him. Nobody had done that in years. Well, except Natasha. But they had both agreed that it was better to remain partners.

Clint took Jacqueline home afterwards and all he heard was how wonderful Natasha was. It was lucky that he could speak French because Jacqueline often reverted to her native language, she was so enthusiastic.

"It was such luck that she wrapped up her work early and was able to come," Jacqueline said. "She really is lovely, not at all stern like you described her, Clint! Tasha, Pepper, and I are going to meet for lunch and Tasha is going to take us out to a Russian place."

"Wait, _'Tasha'_?"

"Oh, yes, that's what she asked me to call her. Natasha is such a beautiful name, though. And the places she has been..."

Clint knew something was up. Natasha didn't let _anyone_ call her 'Tasha' except for him. Not even Coulson, when he had still been alive. Stark did once and she'd almost broken his hands, calmly asking what use a mechanic was without them. Clint didn't think he'd _ever_ seen Stark so scared shitless_._ He walked Jacqueline to the door and got a passionate kiss of his troubles. She offered for him to come inside, but Clint declined, citing an early morning tomorrow. In truth, though, he had a certain red-headed Russian to talk to. Jacqueline looked disappointed, but said she understood.

"Tell Tasha I am looking forward to our lunch tomorrow."

"I will." Clint took a taxi back to Stark Tower. He'd been very careful to keep Jacqueline away from SHIELD so far. Tonight was actually the first night she'd met anyone else officially with SHIELD. He never told her anything about his work, other than the fact that he worked with Natasha a fair amount of time and that he had to stay in good shape for his job. He never brought her near the SHIELD building and today was the first time she'd been within three blocks of Stark Tower.

Maybe he should've declined Pepper's offer. It might've been safer for Jacqueline. But he hadn't expected Natasha to be there! She'd been in the field for the last ten months, and then she shows up suddenly, the night he was planning on introducing Jacqueline to the Avengers? Walking in the door with Jacqueline on his arm was not the way he'd planned to tell Natasha. He'd tried to come up with a solution to that dilemma from the moment he realized that he did like Jacqueline. More than like her. Jacqueline was really the first girl after Natasha that he thought he could love. She was smart, had a good sense of humour, and was quite down-to-earth for an aspiring actress. She worked for a coffee shop down in East Village. Clint liked to frequent it when he could, if only to say 'hi'.

Clint couldn't help but grin at the thought of Jacqueline in her coffeehouse apron her blonde hair pulled back effortlessly. She always smelled like coffee beans afterwards and Clint loved to pick her up from work, even if all he could do was drop her off at her apartment.

The taxi dropped him off a few blocks from Stark Tower. Clint never took a car directly there. It was madness anyways, ever since the Manhattan incident he dare not go in the front door. SHIELD made arrangements for a private entrance the next block over that took advantage of an old prohibition tunnel. Just in case, Clint pulled a baseball cap down over his face and slumped, melding into the crowd. It was almost midnight in New York City, and the crowd wasn't any less than if it had been noon. Clint slipped into the apartment building a block from Stark Tower. He nodded to the doorman, a SHIELD agent, and then passed right on into the elevator. Rather than going up, Clint hit the "Basement" button. A small glowing square popped out of the elevator panel and he pressed his thumb to it. There was no "Welcome Clint Barton"; just a simple ring of recognition and the elevator began descending. The doors opened to a service corridor which, after a door requiring another biometric scan and facial recognition, let him into the prohibition tunnel itself. The tunnel was dimly lit, but Clint knew there were security cameras every few feet, and JARVIS could see in the dark. By the time he'd taken two steps down the tunnel, JARVIS had likely alerted Stark or someone to his arrival.

"Welcome, Agent Barton," JARVIS greeted Clint as he left the tunnel and stepped into Stark's private elevator. He didn't even have to go through Stark Tower's lobby.

"Hey JARVIS," Clint replied. It was odd talking to seemingly nobody at first, but Clint had gotten used to JARVIS being a constant as soon as he stepped into the tower, during the time that he'd lived there. He still made sure JARVIS's cameras were covered in his room and he never had any conversations anywhere in the tower that was meant to be completely private. When he talked to Jacqueline he went back to the apartment building on the other side of the tunnel. When he spoke to Fury or Hill, he went three blocks away. No reason to make it _easy_ for Stark to stick his nose in SHIELD business. The guy hacks into the SHIELD mainframe every few weeks anyways.

"How was your evening with Miss Duval?"

"It was fine, JARVIS. Is Natasha here?"

"Yes sir, she is in the gym. I could alert her, if you wish?"

"No, that's alright. Better not interrupt her."

"Yes, sir."

Clint returned to his room and changed into workout clothes before hoping back in the elevator to go down to the gym floor. Stark had made sure they had _everything_. State-of-the-art equipment, a full-size boxing ring, a swimming pool, and of course a top-of-the-line steam room. They had the latest in training equipment. Not even the SHIELD gym was of the same calibre. Rogers spent a lot of time in the gym. Clint could understand why. It was easier in the gym. Punching a target, running for miles on the treadmill, it was mindless. Stark had even set up a shooting range for Clint, complete with targets that moved and never came up in the same place twice. Normally Clint went there when he came down to the gym. You could never practice too much. But this time he had a very specific reason for coming.

She was jogging when he got down there. Her red hair bobbed up and down with her strides, innocent. Well, as innocent as Natasha could ever be. She was watching a SHIELD condensed version of the news, likely catching up on everything that had happened during her long stint in the field. Her eyes flickered up from the video screen when he entered, but her expression remained just as neutral as ever.

"Hey Nat," Clint greeted her, crossing to his locker as he always did when coming down to the gym.

"Clint," she replied, only slightly breathless. Likely she'd been running since they left the restaurant. Clint flicked open his locker, but rather than pulling out his practice bow, he started wrapping his hands.

"When did you get back?" he asked.

Natasha took the cue and halted the treadmill. She stepped down and sauntered over to her own locker, right next to Clint's. "About five minutes before you walked through the door." If Natasha were any other person, her tone would be dripping with sarcasm. But Natasha was a professional, like Clint. They didn't make such overt statements. Even to each other.

"Interested in a quick spar? It's been a while."

Natasha's eyes flickered to his hands and then the rest of him, sizing him up. But Clint kept everything as calm and relaxed as he could. Things unsaid hung heavy in the air, and both of them knew that this would be more than just "a quick spar".

Natasha nodded. "Alright."

Clint warmed up as Natasha wrapped her own hands. As he paced back and forth over the mats, loosening his muscles, he tried to decide how he was going to go about this. Clint was tempted to be direct with her. He'd have to apologize at some point. He hadn't told her. She was his partner, one of the few people in the world he considered a friend. Maybe even a _best_ friend. Clint _certainly_ was closer to her than he had been even to his own family.

And she'd been the last to find out. Worse, he hadn't been able to prepare her or talk to her, nothing. She'd come back after ten months in the field, and there he'd been. Clint disguised his nervous cough as clearing his throat. Natasha joined him out on the mat and stretched out her own arms and legs a bit.

"Ready?" she asked, taking up a fighting stance.

Clint nodded. He felt like someone was at his back, driving a sword point into his spine and forcing him down a very short wooden plank. The sea below looked dark and treacherous, the waves crashing against the fragile wooden bow of his safety boat. As he settled into a fighting stance of his own, it felt like he'd reached those last few inches and his toes were hanging off. The sea below gaped wide, ready to swallow him up. He drew in a deep breath and took the plunge.

Fighting Natasha wasn't like fighting anyone else. They were partners. They knew each other's moves inside and out. Clint had taught her some of his moves and she'd taught him some of hers. They knew exactly how the other would react and so the fight was a flurry of blows until they disengaged and circled for a better angle of attack. When Clint broke away the first time, his ribs were already aching. She'd gotten in a few good shots. Nothing that would cause a lot of damage, but those ribs would ache and sap his strength as the fight wore on. Natasha liked doing that.

"You've certainly kept busy while I was gone," Natasha commented as they circled. She lashed out with a lightning fast kick and Clint had to put both forearms into the block. He saw the involuntary wince of pain as her shin met the bone of his forearms. She was so fast that she never gave him the opportunity to capture a foot for a takedown.

"Had to do something while you were having all the fun." Clint wanted to punch _himself_ for his reply as soon as he blurted it out. _Stupid, Barton. Think! Keep your head in this._

"Well it seems like maybe you've been having more fun than I have." Natasha stepped up her attacks and the blows came faster and harder. Clint had to go on the defensive. He could still anticipate what she was going to do, but when they broke apart again Clint was the one with a few new bruises. The last kick hit him just on the inside of his thigh. A few inches higher and Natasha would've had him, and she would've crossed the line. Clint recognized it for what it was; a warning shot.

"I doubt that. Did you get him?"

"Of course," Natasha retorted. They circled again, testing each other's defences. Both waited for the other to show their hand. When neither seemed very forthcoming, they clashed again.

"Fury gave you leave?" Clint asked.

"Yes. He thought I deserved it."

"You do. Five successful mission in a row, ten months in the field. It's long overdue."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him as she spun down to the floor, taking his legs out from under him. Clint automatically twisted, breaking his fall and rolling with his momentum. Natasha expected this, though. She stayed with him, keeping up her attack and forcing Clint to fight from the floor.

"Jacqueline seems..._nice_. How long have you known her?"

Clint trapped her foot with a grunt and wrenched her ankle, forcing her down to his level. They grappled, trying to gain the upper hand.

"Two months. We met at Stark's Manhattan Fund Benefit."

"And she wants to be an actress."

"Yes." Clint managed to trap Natasha against the floor, sitting over her stomach. But she bucked him off and sent him head over heels. They both rolled to their feet again. Clint had a bloody nose. His ribs were on fire, his knee had been hyper-extended in the grappling, and he was fairly certain his back would be one large bruise by the next morning. Natasha didn't seem much better. She had the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek and a thin trickle of blood wept from her split eyebrow, and those were only the injuries he could see. They should stop, but neither was willing to concede. They circled once more, ignoring their aches and pains, wiping aside the small streams of red. This time there was urgency about their steps. Clint's felt his emotions running high. The pent up frustration he'd felt from tonight, the way Natasha acted with Jacqueline, was being channelled into each punch and kick. He wiped the blood off his lip with annoyance, never taking his eyes off Natasha.

She was just as agitated. Her face might be neutral, but her posture was tensed forward and she looked like she was ready to shred him to pieces. Clint had seen Natasha like this on very few occasions. Never in a spar, though a few times out on the field. Something always prompted it though. Once they'd found out that one of their targets was slipping drugs to children in the form of sweets to that they would get addicted and be forced to come to him as adults. They barely had a big enough piece to confirm the body's identity to SHIELD.

"So, were you just going to let Stark tell me, or were you hoping that maybe I would figure it out eventually?"

"I was going to tell you as soon as you got back. You've been in the field almost nonstop for the last ten months."

"An _IM _would've done it!" Natasha snapped, catching him in his injured ribs again, forcing Clint to expel his breath with a low grunt. She pressed him and Clint felt like she was everywhere at once. Arms up, trying to protect his face and ribs, all Clint could do what take the punishment as she forced him backwards, towards the wall.

"But no! I get back and you're not even there! And then you just come waltzing in with that French tart on your arm! I looked like an idiot in front of _everyone_!" She spun and drove her foot into his solar plexus. Clint was knocked onto his back, his head cracking against the floor. She'd kicked him clean off the mat in her fury. Clint's head spun and his vision faded in and out of focus. He shook his head, trying to get it to clear so that he could defend himself, but there seemed to be three Natasha's standing over him yelling instead of just the one. He groaned, collapsing back on the floor.

"How old is she anyways, fifteen? She's probably just some flighty little bitch that wants to date Hawkeye from the Avengers! Was she there when _Loki_ took over your mind? Was she there when the Chitauri were smashing up Manhattan? She wants to be an actress; she's just in it for the fame, the fancy dinners and galas! She doesn't _fucking_ know what it's like! She—...Clint?"

Natasha froze as Clint's eyes fluttered shut and his body went limp.

_"Blyad."_


	3. Chapter 3

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written By: Katerinaki

Published: July 6, 2012

Beta'ed: No

Summary: Clint has a girlfriend, except nobody bothered to tell Natasha Romanoff. It wouldn't normally be a problem, except Natasha is always compromised for Clint. BlackHawk

**Note: Here's the next part, on schedule. It's not quite what I wanted, or maybe what you all wanted, but after some deep thought about Natasha's character, I decided that she wouldn't just kick Jacqueline's ass. She'd be subtle. This is the subtlety that I came up with. Again, thank you for your support. -Katerinaki**

Part 3

Natasha was...conflicted. Even more so than she'd ever been before, surprisingly. In hindsight, beating Clint to a bloody pulp until he was passed out on the floor hadn't been a good idea. She was the Black Widow, a master spy and assassin. She should've had more control than that.

But it had felt _really good_ and Natasha just couldn't bring herself to regret doing it. She regretted the trouble it had caused everyone and the fact that Fury had practically torn her a new one because Clint would be out for at least a week now with his concussion, but she still thought Clint deserved _something._ After all, he'd been a grade-A jackass the way he'd flaunted Jacqueline in front of her.

However, now the infamous Hawkeye was out of commission and the bad guys weren't taking a nap like he currently was in the medical wing of Stark Tower. Natasha had to say that she was impressed by the Stark Tower medical team's reaction time. Mere seconds after she'd realized Clint was down for the count, a flock of medics swarmed into the training room, followed by Rogers and Stark. Rogers was the muscle and he put himself between Natasha and Clint as the medics hurried to make sure he wasn't dead. Actually, that had hurt. She'd seen the mistrustful look in Rogers' eyes as he faced off against her, ready to defend Clint if she decided to attack him while he was down. But that wasn't Rogers' job; it was Natasha's. Natasha was Clint's partner, his "wing-girl". She protected his back, he protected hers. The thought that Clint might need protecting from her was ridiculous, and yet there he lay with a concussion, three broken ribs, a hyper-extended knee, a broken nose and one eye swollen completely closed. Clint wouldn't be seeing Jacqueline for a while, and when he did...well Clint would have some awkward explaining to do.

As Natasha drove one of the blacked-out SHEILD cars to her lunch with Jacqueline, she wondered what excuse Clint might make. Would it be an "accident"? What sort of accident would lead to that many _specific_ injuries? He fell down the stairs, landed on his side, twisted his knee and then flipped over and landed nose first? Natasha supposed it could be plausible. Or maybe Clint would spin her some tale about a late night walk and some guys who wanted his wallet? Did Jacqueline know how deadly Clint was? It would be just Natasha's brand of irony if Clint's injuries brought him and Jacqueline _closer_ together.

She was to meet Jacqueline at Tabakov Beer Restaurant down in East Village. It was more of a nightlife establishment, but Jacqueline had admitted interest in Russian food, having never tried it before, and this restaurant was conveniently located just a few blocks from the coffeehouse where Jacqueline admitted to working. And once more, Natasha knew the owner. Ilya Tabakov was a large, burly first generation America-born Russian. His family had emigrated from Saratov when Ilya's father was seventeen. Ilya's family had built this restaurant from the ground up, completely renovating the space after buying it cheap from the old landlord. It had been a condemned squatter's spot before. Ilya had shown Natasha photos from when they'd first bought it, with trash and used needles all over the floor. And rats, big ones, bigger than Ilya's head! Considering Ilya was built like a tractor-trailer truck...Natasha was glad they'd gotten rid of all the rats long ago.

Looking at the place now, one would never have guessed. As soon as Natasha stepped inside, she felt like she was back in Russia. Ilya himself was behind the bar and he greeted Natasha wholeheartedly in Russian, asking how she was and after her family. Natasha had told him that her parents were dead, but that she had an older brother named "Igor". It was silly, but at the time it was the first thing that popped into her head.

"_Igor had an accident at work yesterday,"_ Natasha told him.

Ilya looked appropriately worried. _"He is uninjured, I hope."_

Natasha shook her head worriedly. _"He is in the hospital, but the doctors say he will make a full recovery."_

Ilya poured her a glass of vodka, neat just how she liked it, and slid it across the bar. "_On the house."_ He told her, pouring himself a glass as well. They toasted _"To Igor and a fast recovery."_

The door opened and Jacqueline stepped in, trailing Pepper. Stark's ever-thoughtful CEO had apparently opted to pick Jacqueline up at the coffeehouse on her way to the bar. Jacqueline looked around with wide eyes, taking in the small bar as a whole before her eyes fell on Natasha where she still sat at the bar with Ilya.

"Tasha, this place is wonderful!"

Natasha pasted a smile across her face and greeted Jacqueline with a kiss on both cheeks. "It's the best," Natasha agreed. She pulled Pepper and Jacqueline towards the bar to sit down on stools. "Ilya, these are my good friends Pepper Potts and Jacqueline Duval. I promised them I'd take them to the best Russian restaurant in the city."

Ilya laughed. "Then why did you bring them here?" he joked. "It's good to meet you, Miss Potts and Miss Duval. Any friend of Natasha's is a friend of mine."

"Then you have to call me Pepper," Pepper retorted, shaking Ilya's hand.

"And Jacqui," Jacqueline added.

"Then a round of the best Russian vodka for my new friends Pepper and Jacqui," Ilya declared. He poured two more glasses and then refilled his own and Natasha's. They toasted to "new friendships" and Natasha had the distinct pleasure of watching Jacqueline's face as she attempted to swallow pure Russian vodka. She didn't even make it past the first sip before she started coughing. Natasha wasn't sure if Pepper faired any better, but at least she didn't double over in a coughing fit. Ilya laughed and reached across the bar to thump the poor French girl on the back, almost knocking her right off her stool.

"Maybe we rushed things a bit," Natasha admitted, trying to look concerned to hide a broad smile. "Do you still have some of that wine? The stuff from Katya's birthday?"

"I might have a bottle in the cellar still. It was very good, wasn't it? Let me go see. In the meantime, you think about what you want to eat."

Ilya disappeared into the back of the bar leaving Natasha, Pepper and Jacqueline alone in the front. Jacqueline had completely abandoned even pretending to _consider_ drinking the vodka.

"I really shouldn't drink," Jacqueline said. "I have to go back to work after this."

"Oh a glass of wine isn't going to get your _drunk_," Natasha insisted. "You French like good wine, and this stuff is some of the best, trust me."

Ilya came back toting a dusty bottle of red wine. He dusted it off a bit before popping the cork and pouring the three of them almost full glasses. When he asked them what they wanted to eat, Natasha ordered for them.

As they waited for Ilya to cook their food, they lapsed into casual conversation. Now that the new experience of being in a Russian bar had worn off a bit, Natasha was able to notice that Jacqueline was worried about something. She kept checking her cell phone and every time someone passed by out on the street her head would shoot around to the front windows as if she was checking to see if it was someone in particular. The fourth time she did this, Natasha decided it was time to ask her what was wrong.

"Oh, it's probably nothing," she insisted. "It's just; Clint didn't call me this morning before he went into work. I know it's silly, but I just got used to hearing his voice. He always has incredibly precise timing; I could set my watch to Clint's morning phone call."

Pepper and Natasha exchanged a look over Jacqueline's back as the French girl went to check her cell phone again. Pepper knew about Clint of course because Stark knew. She looked at Natasha pointedly and then nodded down to Jacqueline. The message was clear. You made this problem, so _you _fix it.

"...I know I'm being silly," Jacqueline was still saying.

"No," Pepper interrupted her abruptly. She looked away from Natasha to smile warmly at Jacqueline and place an arm over her shoulder. "It's not silly. I know I'm always worried about Tony when he puts on his Iron Man suit. It's natural to be worried. Isn't that right, Natasha?"

Natasha nodded quickly. "Absolutely. I'm sure Clint is fine. He gets...tied up in his work." Natasha suppressed a wince at her weak lie. Well, maybe not a full lie. A half-truth. Clint did often get "tied up" in his work. It was their code for "stuck in a SHIELD medical bay somewhere". It had been coined a few years ago when Natasha had literally been tied down to a bed and had most of the left side of her body wrapped in gauze. She'd been caught at the fringes of an unexpected explosion. SHIELD had tied her down to the bed so that she wouldn't attack any doctors thinking they were threats. It had happened more often than not in the past, especially after some of her more intense missions. They did the same to Clint. The two of them were just hardwired to fight and they'd sent too many medics to hospital beds of their own.

Pepper didn't appreciate the turn of phrase. But Natasha's assurances seemed to be enough for Jacqueline. She smiled in relief and nodded. "You're probably right. Clint is so hard-working."

"Exactly," Natasha agreed. "I wouldn't be surprised if something just came up and Clint was so focused he just forgot to call. I'm sure he's fine."

Ilya returned carrying a big tray of plates. Natasha had ordered five different dishes, after all, wanting to give Jacqueline the "full experience". There was borscht of course, and meat and potato pirozhki because Ilya made some of the best. Then there was tabaka, or flattened chicken, and stuffed cabbage. And just for "Natasha's friends", Ilya managed to procure pork kholodets. Between the rich food, the kholodets and Ilya's uncanny ability to keep refilling Jacqueline's glass when she wasn't looking, Jacqueline was looking a bit green and definitely swaying as they left the Tabakov Beer Restaurant. She stumbled on Pepper and Natasha's shoulders to Pepper's car and collapsed on the back seat, groaning.

"Natasha, can I speak to you _alone_ for a moment?" Pepper snapped.

"Sure, Pepper," Natasha replied innocently. She reached in and pushed Jacqueline's blonde hair out of her face tenderly. "We'll be back in a bit, Jacqui, don't worry."

"Okay," Jacqueline murmured, already dozing off.

Pepper closed the car door and stomped off a few feet, bringing Natasha behind her. When they were sufficiently away from the car and out of view of the restaurant's windows, Pepper turned on Natasha.

"What do you have against that girl?" she demanded.

Natasha looked appropriately shocked. "I don't have _anything_ against Jacqui—"

"Cut the bullshit, Romanoff. You forget that I went out with you before. You ordered enough food for about _six_ people and then proceeded to stuff half of it down that poor girl's throat. And don't think I didn't see you and Ilya refilling her glass at every turn. You know she is supposed to go back to work at the coffeehouse in ten minutes. What do you want me to do now? She can't go back as she is, she'll get fired!"

Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe she should learn how to hold her liquor better?"

Pepper looked like she was ready to explode. But she didn't. Natasha could've dealt with an exploding Pepper. What she couldn't deal with was the look of complete and utter disappointment that her only girl friend sent her. No wonder Stark was completely whipped, if Pepper pulled out this expression every time he did something wrong. Pepper was seriously ruining the smug satisfaction Natasha was feeling, seeing Jacqueline ready to hurl her guts out at any minute.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked finally. Anything to make Pepper stop _looking _at her like that.

"I'm going to take Jacqueline home. You're going to go down to her workplace and _fix it_. Do whatever you have to. Bribe them, work for them, I don't care. But if that girl is fired because of you, I swear Clint will never forgive you. He really _likes_ this girl, Natasha. You haven't seen him the last two months. He _smiles_."

"Clint smiled before," Natasha grumbled.

"Not as much as this. And never when you weren't around. Your time in the field was hard for him too, you know."

Damn it. Now Natasha felt guilty. Thanks for nothing, Pepper.

"Alright," she conceded. "I'll fix it, okay?"

Pepper nodded. "Okay. Then I'll see you tonight for dinner. I promised to teach Steve how to cook fried chicken."

Natasha cringed at the thought of another of Rogers' cooking fiascos. But she was already on thin ice with Pepper. She'd wanted to get back and Jacqueline and Clint, but she hadn't wanted to alienate her other friends too. Natasha didn't have enough people that she trusted to do that. Pepper returned to her car and strapped a now asleep Jacqueline into the back seat before driving off. Natasha had no choice but to take her own SHIELD car and drive down to the coffeehouse.


	4. Chapter 4

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written By: Katerinaki

Published: July 8, 2012

Beta'ed: No

Summary: Clint has a girlfriend, except nobody bothered to tell Natasha Romanoff. It wouldn't normally be a problem, except Natasha is always compromised for Clint. BlackHawk

**Note: Clint wakes up. It's not as exciting, but if you haven't noticed, I'm sort of flip-flopping between the two. Again, thank you for your support. -Katerinaki**

Part 4

When Clint woke up he had a crazy headache. Like the time he fell off that cliff in Peru, kind of headache. He groaned and automatically tried to pull himself up into at least a sitting position. But he couldn't pull his hand back to help push upwards. Clint's eyes snapped open and he looked down to find that both his wrists and his ankles were firmly secured to the bed he was lying on.

_Great going Barton. You're either taken prisoner or in a SHIELD medical bay._ Looking around at the sterile, white room, Clint was inclined towards the latter. Not that it made his situation any better. Why was he in a SHIELD hospital? And why the _fuck_ did his head hurt so much?

"There's our little black and bluebird. Come on, Hawkie, you know the early bird get's the worm."

Clint groaned again. "Go _away_, Stark," he growled. He really wasn't in the mood for Stark's little quips.

"Can't do that," Stark replied. "I'm supposed to watch you and alert Pepper and/or Fury when you wake up."

"Then go alert them. And while you're at it, untie me."

Stark looked dubiously down at Clint. "You're not going to try to throttle me or anything?"

"I might if you don't release me," Clint retorted.

Stark shook his head. "Now you see that's why you're here right now. When are you people going to learn that violence is never the right answer?"

"Says the former ironmonger turned superhero. Just go get someone who will let me go, if you won't."

"Yeah, be back in a jiffy. In the mean time, read a magazine or something."

Thankfully Stark actually left this time and Clint was able to relax a bit. Stark rubbed everyone the wrong way. Banner was probably the best at tolerating him, but Clint's patience was famous as well. Clint just didn't really have all that much patience when he was tied to a hospital bed with a splitting headache. Now that he was regaining mental functions, other injuries were making themselves known. For instance, Clint quickly realized he didn't have depth perception. His right eye was swollen shut. Shooting-wise that would make things difficult. Clint was a lefty, but he needed to know how far away something was if he was going to hit it. Of course Clint had trained for something like this, but that didn't mean he liked to have to use that training.

His ribs also protested pretty badly when he attempted to shift into a slightly more comfortable position. There had to be at least two broken ribs in there. Once Clint got his hands free he could probe around and figure out just how many for certain, but it felt like at least two. Looking down, his knee was in some sort of brace and that hurt too. Actually there wasn't much that didn't hurt. Clint managed to lift his arms and turn them around in the restraints and found dozens of new black and purple bruises up and down his forearms. His hands ached a bit too. Apparently he'd gone hand-to-hand with someone. That was strange; Clint typically dealt with targets from a far. He saw better at a distance and Clint was a born and bred marksman.

Stark returned trailing Rogers and Banner.

"How're you doing, Clint?" Banner asked.

"Could use some aspirin or something," Clint said. "But otherwise it looks like I'm still in one piece."

"Well, not quite," Banner replied, chuckling a bit. "You have three broken ribs and you suffered a pretty bad concussion. You'll likely feel dizzy and nauseous for the next few days and you might experience a decrease in mental functions. Your nose was broken as well, so you'll have to sleep on your back for a while."

Clint grimaced but nodded. "Okay. What happened? Does the other guy look this bad?"

Banner, Stark, and Rogers exchanged a glance.

"Agent Barton, do you remember what happened at all?" Rogers asked.

Clint tried to, but he just kept coming up blank. All he knew was that something happened that he hadn't been expecting. He remembered shock and surprise because they were two emotions Clint didn't normally experience.

"Did Fury send me on a mission or something?" he asked.

"Clint—"Banner said.

"Your girlfriend kicked your ass from here to Sunday," Stark said bluntly.

"Jacqueline? She couldn't. Jacqueline doesn't have any previous combat training. Fury checked into her background months ago."

"Okay, besides the fact that you had One-eyed Nick run a _background check_ on the chick you're dating, I didn't mean Jacqueline. Agent Romanoff came back from wherever the hell Fury's had her the last ten months. She wasn't too happy by your complete lack of tact that Pepper claims was worthy of...well, me."

It took Clint a moment to understand Stark's words. And when he finally did he wanted to punch _himself_ in the face.

"Oh shit. What happened? What did I do?"

"You sort of walked in with Jacqueline about five minutes after Natasha had come back," Banner said. "She didn't know about you and Jacqueline."

Clint was confused. "Why didn't I meet her at SHIELD Headquarters?"

"Beats me, bro," Stark said, clapping Clint on the shoulder. When the injured assassin winced, Stark realized what he'd done. "Oops, sorry."

"We were all going to go out for dinner," Banner supplied. "You were picking up Jacqueline and Natasha sort of just showed up all of the sudden."

"I tried to warn you, bro, but you have to actually _read_ the text message," Stark added.

"Jacqueline was telling me about an audition she had, for a stage role here in New York," Clint murmured. It was starting to come back to him. He and Jacqueline had been driving over and she was telling him about a possible revival of Les Misérables. Jacqueline was excited about it because it was a French director and producer. And then they'd walked in on Stark and Banner, sitting with a very worn-looking and very shocked Natasha.

"I didn't mean for her to find out that way."

"Yeah well, you need to tell her that," Stark said. "Because that's not all your _'partner_' has done while you were playing Sleeping Beauty."

"What else happened?" Clint demanded, dreading what Stark and the others were going to say.

"Pepper called," Rogers explained. "Apparently Natasha took them out for Russian food and got Jacqueline sick. Pepper had to take her home."

"But I'm sure there are more nitty-gritty details than that," Stark piped up.

"She's sick? Is she okay? Her audition is tomorrow morning. She was really looking forward to it."

Stark snorted. "I think right now you need to get _Spidey-girl_ under control. Don't worry about your other girlfriend; Pepper has her in good hands."

"I have to call her," Clint declared, trying to get up again. But the restraints still tugged at his wrists and ankles and he tweaked his broken ribs in the struggle.

"Clint, just relax," Banner coaxed. "I'll release you, but you have to stay in this bed. At least give yourself until tomorrow to rest."

"I just want to make sure she's okay," Clint insisted.

"I'll bring you a phone then."

Clint looked sideways at Stark suspiciously. The genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist in question looked indignant. "I resent that, Barton."

Rogers chuckled. "You have to admit, it's true."

Stark threw his hands up in the air as if to say "I give up". "Fine, I won't have JARVIS track the call in any way, shape, or form? Happy, Paranoid?"

"Bruce?"

"I'll make sure he follows through, Clint," Banner assured him. He stepped up and started unbuckling the restraints. Once Clint's wrists were free he massaged the blood back into his hands. They were stiff and sore and there was some more bruising across his knuckles. He and Natasha normally wrapped their hands before they sparred. Their fight must've been intense if it left him so battered. What did _Natasha_ look like? She was more accustomed to hand-to-hand, close quarter combat, but Clint wasn't a pushover in any sense of the word.

"Is Natasha okay?" he asked Banner as the doctor unbuckled the restraints on his ankles.

"She's pretty battered too, but she won't let me check to make sure she doesn't have any lasting damage. She had a bruise on her cheek last night, but it was gone this morning."

"Bruise cover-up," Clint said. "SHIELD scientists made it for her, for in the field. It's hard to explain random bruises if you're supposed to be a diplomat's innocent plus one."

Banner helped Clint move to more of a sitting position. His broken ribs protested vehemently but Clint couldn't bring himself to just lay there. At least from a seated position he could make his phone call and then maybe watch something on Stark's ridiculously large flat screen TV that he'd had installed during the two days he was in the Stark Tower medical bay a few months ago. Apparently the Iron Man suit was only _mostly_ missile proof.

"Here, you can use my phone," Banner suggested, handing Clint his cell phone. "Just give me five minutes to find Tony."

"Alright, thanks Bruce."

Clint waited the five minutes and then dialled Jacqueline's cell phone number. It rang a few times before it was picked up.

"_Hello_?"

"Pepper?"

"_Oh good, Clint you're awake_."

"Is Jacqueline alright? I heard what happened."

"_Jacqueline is fine. She is sleeping right now. She threw up a few hours ago and claimed she was feeling much better after that_."

"She threw up? What did Natasha _do_ to her?"

"_She forced an exorbitant amount of food and alcohol down her throat under the pretence of 'Russian hospitality'._"

Clint groaned. He knew all about "Russian hospitality".

"_Clint, are you alright?"_ Pepper asked.

"I should come over there."

"_No, you should rest. I have things handled over here. If anything, what you need to do is have a long, honest _talk_ with Natasha. No fighting. Just sit down in two chairs and talk it out like the adults you are._"

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Pepper."

"_I think it's an _excellent_ idea and should've been done _last night_. In fact, she should be coming back very soon, so I'm going to let you go."_

Pepper didn't wait for Clint to agree. She just hung up the phone and when Clint tried to call back it went straight to voicemail. So he tossed Banner's heavy-duty, Stark Industries phone on the bedside table and prepared to watch various sports matches for the next few hours. But just as he reached for the remote, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Stark sauntered back inside. "Happy now? I told you Pepper was taking care of _mon chérie."_

"Why are you back, Stark?" Clint groaned.

"You know, you're a lot grumpier when you're in a hospital bed. I feel like maybe I should be making little meat balls to feed to you or something. Or would you like some grasshoppers instead?"

"If you don't have a reason for being here, then leave please," Clint retorted.

"There's that grump again. Well it's my tower, my name on the side, I think I'll sit in and watch the game on _my_ flat screen. Excuse me." Stark plucked the remote from the bedside table and half flopped onto the couch in the corner. He flicked on the television and turned the channel to the Yankees game. They both watched the game in silence for a few moments.

"So…I hear you're having lady troubles…" Stark said.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Stark?" Clint replied, not even looking away from the game.

"I take offense to that. I am in fact very _good_ with the ladies. Well, most of the ladies. You, on the other hand, have spent so much time perched up in a tree in some third-world country that quite frankly I'm _shocked_ you have as much game as you do."

Clint laughed at Stark's jab. "And so what would the infamous playboy Tony Stark suggest? And _don't_ say a threesome."

Stark threw his hands up. "Your words, not mine. But don't knock it until you try it." They sat in awkward silence again, both staring at the game.

"But in all seriousness, you're going to have to talk to her."

"I know," Clint said.

Stark nodded. "Good, right then. I think I'll just leave you to this. The living room screen is bigger anyways." Stark got up and headed for the door. "You know, you shocked the rest of us too with that French girl. Pepper and I had money on whether or not you and Natasha had already tied the knot in secret or something."

"Natasha and I?" Clint coughed. "We tried, a long time ago. We work better as partners."

"Mhm," Stark nodded as he slipped out the door. "Keep telling yourself that."


	5. Chapter 5

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written by: Katerinaki

Published: August 12, 2012

Beta'ed: No

**Note: Sorry about the long wait. Like I said, I went on vacation and then I got stuck. I'm still a bit stuck, but I pushed out this for you guys. It's short and awkward (or Hawkward =P) but I felt that I needed to give you something. -Katerinaki**

Part 5

Natasha couldn't stand the smell of coffee. It was bitter, drinking it was akin to licking the bottom of an ashtray, and there was nothing that stuck in your nose longer than the smell of old beans. Natasha had been covered in some pretty disgusting stuff during her time at SHIELD, and even before that. She'd snuck through the sewers of London for Christ's sake. The _old_ sewers. She'd taken a swim in the Grand Canal in Venice and had needed a chemical shower afterwards.

Natasha would've preferred the Grand Canal than the smell of burnt coffee beans.

Jacqueline's boss wouldn't take money, though. He made a big stink about the "inconvenience" and insisted that they needed the "manpower". So Natasha spent much of the afternoon re-cleaning the same five or six tables and staring out the window, waiting for someone to come in, and brewing new pots of coffee every hour on the hour. To say she was overqualified for the job would be to say that the sun was "hot" and Banner and Stark were "clever". After an afternoon of waiting, Natasha was finally allowed to leave and Jacqueline retained her job. There, she fixed it. She'd paid whatever debt she might've owed the girl.

Three days later, Natasha swore she still smelled like coffee beans and she steered clear of the kitchen in the mornings. The first time she'd come down while Stark was making his usual cup of coffee, she'd nearly gagged right there in the kitchen. After experiencing her new aversion to coffee the first time, Natasha made sure she was up before everyone else, even Pepper, and slipped down to the gym to get in a morning workout. After a few hours, when she was sure breakfast was done and the smell had drifted away through JARVIS's air filtration system, she'd slip back upstairs and none would be the wiser. They just thought she was trying to keep in shape during her break.

In those three days, she never saw Clint. In truth, she avoided him. Banner said that Clint knew about all of it. Including what she'd done to Jacqueline at Ilya's bar. And she was embarrassed at her behavior. She'd been childish and petty. Natasha always said love was for children. That was the way she justified her complete and utter lack of a love life. She wasn't like Barton. She didn't tell herself that it would be too dangerous for someone else. Instead, she made herself believe that she was better than love. Love was something from fairy tale stories. It was something that children believed in, that little girls dreamed about before they went to bed at night. Natasha hadn't been a child for many years. Even when she was young and might've been considered a child, she wasn't.

So why was she acting childish now?

Falling into a routine was a bad idea, but Natasha couldn't bring herself to really care. She just couldn't stand the smell of coffee. To make up for her routine of going to the gym, Natasha always varied what she did once she was down there. The first few days after the incident with Clint, she'd stayed away from striking anything. Her knuckles and wrists were sore. Neither of them had held back in the fight. But now the pain was fading and Natasha decided she needed to work on her fighting skills. Clint had gotten in way too many hits.

She warmed up a bit on the mats, stretching and practicing a few of the more traditional katas she'd learned when she first began martial arts. When her heart rate was up and her body was loose, Natasha moved over to the speed bag and soon the target was rattling back and forth with each quick, successive hit, as her hands flashed back and forth in a blur.

She almost didn't hear him come in. But the door made a clicking sound that was off tempo from the speed bag. It wasn't Rogers. His extra muscle mass made his steps heavier than most. Banner did his light training in the evening and Stark would've said something by now, if by some miracle he actually came down to the gym. So unless Thor suddenly returned from Nornheim or Alfheim, wherever he was, Clint had just entered the gym.

Natasha chose to continue her work out for now. When doubtful, it was best to try to go about things as normal. That guideline had saved her cover more than once in the field. Act differently, and they knew you were hiding something, or in this case, guilty about something. She stepped away from the speed bag, but didn't look up as she moved over to the heavy bag for some kicking. She was breathing a bit heavily and sweat beaded on her forehead and back, but she went right into double, triple, and quadruple kicks on the bag without batting an eyelash.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clint sat on the bench, waiting like he was up in a nest. He didn't move a muscle. He watched her like he would watch a target, blue eyes never looking away for even a moment. Natasha hadn't been on the receiving end of that stare since she'd first met Clint and joined SHIELD. It was unnerving, and distracting. Natasha's annoyance at it started to grow and she fueled her kicks with it until finally she just couldn't take his staring any more.

Natasha slammed her left foot down and turned on Clint. "If you have something to say, Barton, just spit it out already!" she snapped.

And immediately regretted it. That was the second time she'd lost control this week, and it was all because of him. Him and that _girl_. It was stupid; she was better than this. But now that she'd exploded again, there was no way she could just go back to her workout as if nothing was wrong. So she stood there, staring right back.

He looked horrible. His right eye was purplish-blue and an ugly shade of putrid green, but because of his broken nose, even his uninjured eye was darkened. The bridge of his nose itself was bandaged over. He sat gingerly on the bench. No doubt his broken ribs were wrapped underneath the green t-shirt he wore. There was no brace on his knee, so either he was ignoring Banner's orders, or he'd just slipped out of bed. Judging by the grey sweatpants, Natasha was inclined to think the latter.

"I'm not here to fight you again, Natasha," he said softly. "I did that before."

"Why are you here then?"

Clint appeared at a loss. Natasha held her breath as she waited for a reply, but each time Clint opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. After about the fourth or fifth time it happened, he sighed heavily and laughed.

He looked ready to collapse onto the floor. Almost as soon as he started, he stopped, groaning as a pained grimace crossed his face.

"Are you alright?" she asked warily, automatically crossing the distance between them.

"Yeah," Clint wheezed as she sat down on the bench next to him. "Just my ribs."

Now it was Natasha's turn to grimace.

"Why are you laughing?"

Clint looked up at Natasha, his blue eyes finding hers. The most prevalent emotion she could see was pain. Not just physical pain either. Clint could deal with physical pain. This was the reason she'd been avoiding him for the last three days. This emotional pain. Natasha's guilt ate away at her. They carried enough burdens, caused themselves enough trouble, forced themselves to remember each and every spot of red on their ledgers.

"Do you remember what you said to me, after you broke Loki's spell? I was ready to blame myself for the damage I'd done under his control, but you told me not to. You said that this was magic and nothing we were _ever_ trained for." Clint chuckled lightly, wincing again. "I think our training is lacking in a few areas."

Not many would say that. Before recently, Natasha wouldn't have said that. If anything, their training had seemed quite thorough; some of the best in the world.

"I want to talk."

Natasha stared back at him. They hadn't talked straight to each other for a long time. Long before the fight with Loki. Natasha wasn't sure she knew how to anymore. Nobody taught spies how to _talk_ to one another.

Before it all, they'd been _upfront_ with each other. When Clint had chosen not to kill her, he'd been completely frank with her. It was part of what had made Natasha trust him in the first place. And every time after that, when they were partners, their interactions had been blunt. It was difficult to say when honest words began to fail them and their interactions became more of this dance. The first time Natasha fought Clint because she was annoyed with him was the first time she just didn't feel able to say exactly what she wanted to him. Because she cared about him and what he thought of her.

Compromised just began to scratch the surface of her, when it came to Clint.

Sitting beside him, on the bench in the gym of Stark Tower, maybe they could try again.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"How was Tehran?"

Natasha blinked. "You're kidding me right?"

Clint shrugged. "I never got to ask you about it. I'm sorry I didn't meet you at the pad, but I had to go pick up Jacqueline for the dinner and—, well you know…"

"Yeah," Natasha said. "So…you two have been dating for two months…?"

"Yeah."

"And it's…going well?"

"More or less."

They fell into silence. Why was this so difficult? It had never been this difficult between them before. Before Natasha had been able to tell Clint anything. He and Coulson because they were the only two people in the world that she trusted. They understood. Clint had just as much of a past as her. And Coulson…there had just been something about the guy that made you comfortable around him. He didn't say all that much, but you still ended up spilling your guts to him.

But Coulson wasn't there anymore and Natasha's list of confidants had dwindled from two to just one. And now Natasha didn't even feel like she could talk to the one. _You have to start somewhere_, she told herself. _Eventually someone has to mention the elephant in the room._

"I'm sorry about Jacqueline," she murmured. "Is she alright?"

Clint nodded, taking the unexpected apology in stride. "Yeah, she's better now. I saw her yesterday."

"What did you tell her about…this?" Natasha gestured vaguely over Clint's black eyes and stiff posture.

"Fell down the stairs at work."

"And she bought it?" Natasha blurted out, incredulous.

"Yeah. Not everyone is…like us…"

"I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have lost control like that. It won't happen again, Clint. I promise."

"It's fine," Clint was already insisting. "I'll heal. But…look, I know I'm no Coulson, but why _did _you lose control? I did something stupid, I know that. But it isn't the first time I've done something stupid, just the first time you've kicked my ass because of it. What happened this time? What was different?"

_She _was different. They were different. It wasn't just Black Widow and Hawkeye screwing up this time; not that they screwed up often. This time there was an outsider thrust into the inner circle. And the Red Room and SHIELD never gave lessons on how to deal with your partner's new girlfriend.

Natasha opened her mouth to try to explain that to him.

"I am sorry to interrupt Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff, but there has been a request for you to report to the briefing room immediately."

"Thanks JARVIS," Clint replied, already heading for the door with a slight limp in his step.

Their discussion was over. The tension in the room suddenly broke and Clint and Natasha were only too relieved. This was something they knew how to do. There was only one reason they'd be summoned to the briefing room immediately. The Avengers were needed somewhere.


	6. Chapter 6

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written by: Katerinaki

Published: September 8, 2012

Beta'ed: No

**Note: The story is becoming more complicated than I originally intended it, which is why it's taking me so long to update. I apologize, but if you'll stick with me, I promise I won't abandon this story. Just like Clint would never abandon Natasha. -Katerinaki**

Part 6:

Benched. Clint hated it. The bad guys didn't care if your ribs hurt. There shouldn't even _be_ a bench for Hawkeye. But he was under direct orders from Fury.

He and Natasha had been the last ones to report to the briefing room. When the two of them entered together, everyone had stared. Clint caught a questioning look from Stark, but he didn't give any sort of response. None of that mattered when there was a situation for the Avengers to handle. Well, most of the Avengers. Thor still hadn't made an appearance and Clint could already tell, just by the way Fury outlined the situation, Clint wouldn't be going.

A terrorist group had taken over a high tech military base in the Pyrenees. They had access to the best weapons system in Europe and there were several hostages. The location alone made it nearly impossible for regular military to neutralize the threat, without the added complication of about thirty scientists and guards who had all been rounded up. Add to that the base's own security, now in the hands of the terrorists, and the sensitive information contained in the base's computers and it became a prime situation for the Avengers. Well, most of the Avengers.

Clint sat in the briefing room, watching the feed from Stark's helmet and listening to the idle comm. chatter as Natasha and a SHIELD pilot flew the team across the Atlantic Ocean. It should've been him in the pilot's seat of the Quinjet. The Captain was outlining their strategy with the help of a 3D blueprint, courtesy of Stark's computer JARVIS. It seemed fairly simple. Hulk and Stark would provide two separate distractions while Rogers and Natasha infiltrated the base. Rogers would go for the hostages while Natasha broke into the control room and rendered the automatic defences inoperable. It was textbook divide and conquer.

"Barton, you listening?" Rogers asked through his radio. Clint winced as the captain's voice blared through the briefing room's speakers. Rogers still tended to talk too loudly into the radios. He still hadn't gotten used to the state-of-the-art communication devices and thought he had to shout to make himself heard clearly through a garbled radio.

"Yeah, I'm listening, Cap," Clint replied, sitting upright in his chair. "And you don't have to shout."

Rogers winced. "Sorry," he said, much more softly. "Agent Romanoff is going to connect JARVIS to the control room. After that, you'll be able to take eyes and ears. Got that?"

Clint jerked his chin. "You got it, Cap."

"That will free Agent Romanoff up. If the leader isn't with the hostages, you have to find him. Don't let him escape, do you understand?"

Natasha nodded back to him from the cockpit. "Understood, Cap. We're coming up on the base. Stark, whenever you're ready."

The camera feed tilted as Stark got to his feet. "Wish me luck, sweetheart."

The back of the Quinjet opened and Clint lost sight of the team as Stark took off, dropping down over Spain.

"Sort things out with your girlfriend yet?" Stark asked through his helmet.

Clint sighed, shaking his head. Stark always had issues focusing.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Concentrate on the job, Stark," Clint reproached. The base was coming into view and Clint could already see figures mobilizing around the perimeter. Stark put on a burst of speed and dived lower, coming in under the first barrage of anti-tank fire. His shoulder cannons lit up the area between the base's walls and the building itself.

"See? I can talk and shoot at the same time," Stark said. "So what's the problem, stage fright? Cat got your tongue?" Stark landed and targeted the concrete wall of the base. With a concentrated blast from his chest, he blew a hole in the wall, setting off every alarm in the entire base.

"Stark!" Clint snapped, annoyed. Now was not the time to talk about this issue, especially now that the base was on full alert and the hostages were now in immediate danger. And even if it _were_ the proper circumstances and lives did _not_ hang in the immediate balance, he was not about to bare his love life to Tony Stark.

Wait, _love_ life?

_'Love is for children.'_ Natasha said it all the time. Yet, Clint still looked for it. Well, not so much looked for it as just allowed himself to experience it. That was the difference between him and Natasha. Natasha rejected love outright. Clint felt it, but he never allowed himself to act on it. Acting on love was what got you compromised, made you do something stupid, and got you killed.

"Yeah, do something stupid like fight an angry Black Widow," Clint muttered to himself.

Clint didn't know if he loved Jacqueline. He _liked_ her very much, but he hadn't known her long enough to love her. Natasha, on the other hand, he had known long enough and yeah, Clint loved her. He'd never dare admit it to her, though. She'd make the last fight look like a playful tumble.

"Hey, loverboy, get your head in the game," Stark scolded. "JARVIS is working his way into their system. You'll have access in 3, 2, 1."

The whole wall seemed to explode as suddenly the feed grew from just Stark's helmet to every camera in every nook and cranny, inside and outside the entire base. He saw everything, from the crowd of battered soldiers and engineers being held in the hanger, to the squads of masked men running for their lives from a rampaging Hulk.

"Alright, I'm live," Clint said, opening his frequency to the whole team.

"I'm going to disable the doors on my way out, Hawk," Natasha said. Clint caught a glimpse of her burning the doors of the control room together before setting a small explosive charge on the controls. A split second later the access panel was completely fried and there was no way anyone was prying those doors open without some heavy firepower. Natasha nodded up at the camera outside the door before jogging off in search of more terrorists.

Clint turned his attention back to all the feeds. They seemed organized by geographic area, no doubt courtesy of JARVIS. He skimmed over those hallways and areas that had no activity and focused instead on the northwest corner where there was a hangar that held all of the potential modes of transportation away from the base.

"Cap, it looks like all the hostages are being held in the hangar in one group. I can see about twenty guards with them, but none look like they might be the ring-leader."

"I'm heading there now," Rogers said. "Stark, meet me there."

"Racy you, old man," Stark replied.

"Hawk, do you see anyone who looks important on the monitors?" Rogers asked.

Clint scanned the screens but it was difficult to make head or tail of almost anything. Banner was outside, taking on a helicopter and doing his absolute best to cause as much damage and chaos as possible. He saw Stark a second before he blasted his way through the hangar door and took those guarding the hostages by surprise. Hopefully none of the hostages were _killed_ because of Stark's reckless behaviour. Natasha was fighting her way north, leaving a trail of incapacitated bodies in her wake. Clint's fingers itched for his bow as he watched Natasha dodge some gunfire before smashing the hilt of her weapon into another terrorist's face. He should be there, shooting that guy in the back, watching out for his partner. Here in the briefing room, he could see everything, but do nothing and it was more infuriating than the time Coulson had him running target practice blindfolded.

Clint almost didn't see the small, three-man group that was running _away_ from all of the fighting. But he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his good eye and was able to turn and get a better view at the next camera. Now he knew how Fury felt.

Two were guards, just like the ones Natasha and the others were engaged with. They were big and burly and jogged on either side of the third, smaller figure; the one obviously being protected. He couldn't see a face since the third guy had a hood and obviously knew how to play the camera blind spots. But he was fairly short and had a backpack slung over one shoulder hastily. They didn't seem to be heading for any exit, based on which cameras Clint saw them on. Instead, they seemed to be heading down. But why trap yourself underground? It only meant that they would be trapped, once the base was under SHIELD's control.

"Widow, you copy?" Clint said urgently.

Natasha finished off a guard and paused, her hand flying to the radio in her ear. "I copy, Hawk. What's wrong?"

"I have three rats that are heading underground. I can't see what's down there; it's not on their security system. Southwest corner."

"I'm on it." Natasha pulled an abrupt about face and stared running back the way she'd just come, careless of the bodies she stepped on along the way. Clint watched the trio's progress until they slipped through a door and out of his view.

"JARVIS."

"Yes, Agent Barton?"

"Are you sure there aren't any cameras in that area?"

"None that I have access to, sir. It is possible they are not within the same network. I can try to obtain access."

"Get on that." Clint didn't like the idea of Natasha going down there without anyone watching her back. At least if he had cameras, he could warn her or get someone else down to help her. Not that he expected Natasha to need it, but Clint wasn't there to back her up this time.

He almost told her to be careful just before she followed the fleeing trio into his blind spot, but he knew better than to do that. Natasha was as careful as she needed to be and still get the job done. The last thing they needed was for her to lose focus because she was yet again angry with him. Of course, that didn't stop his fingers from itching for his bow. For the hundredth time, he cursed Fury and the SHIELD medical staff.

"JARVIS, where are those cameras?" Clint demanded.

"I'm sorry sir but the cameras are not on a network that can be accessed remotely. I would need to be physically—"

"Stark!" Clint all but growled through radio.

"Yes dear?" Stark quipped.

"Widow just went below. I don't have eyes on her down there."

Clint could practically hear Stark roll his eyes. "Alright, I'll go make sure Spidey girl has all her legs still attached." Clint watched through Stark's helmet camera as he knocked away a few more of the terrorists around him before taking off, smashing through the reinforced concrete ceiling.

Through the Iron Man suit camera, Clint was able to truly see the overall picture from up high. The compound was in ruins but it looked like the Avengers had been successful. Rogers had the hostages released and was working on rounding up the last of the terrorists who were still hanging around, with the Hulk's help. A growing number chose to deal with Captain America than the giant, growling green monster.

"Hawk, tell Fury we're going to need him to send in a clean-up crew," Rogers said.

"They're already on their way Captain." Clint tensed as he heard Fury reply from behind him. Mentally he kicked himself for letting his guard down. True, there probably weren't any threats to him in the secure briefing room in the middle of Stark Tower, but that didn't excuse his lapse. He glanced back at Fury who gave him a pointed look with his one good eye. The message was clear. Get your head on straight or we're going to have a problem.

Clint's attention was drawn back to Stark's helmet cam as the ambient light was left behind. It was difficult to see much past Stark's own lights but the basement of the compound looked pretty trashed. Clint could see evidence of a fight halfway down the corridor, ending in the body of one of the guards. Natasha had caught up to the trio.

"Agent Romanoff, report," Fury ordered.

But there was silence on the line.

"Agent Romanoff," he tried again, more forcefully. Still, nothing came through.

"Stark, proceed with caution."

"Yeah, no duh," Stark replied.

Clint gripped the arms of his chair as he and Fury watched Stark's feed, central on the briefing room screen. Occasionally Stark's targeting system would lock onto something innocuous, such as a shattered light or a chunk of the ceiling that had collapsed into the middle of the hallway, but nothing else presented itself. The only sounds were the clanking of the Iron Man boots on the concrete floor and Stark's breathing, which was becoming irritatingly loud.

Stark must've tripped a wire or something because one moment the corridor was dark and empty, and the next it was being blasted apart by some sort of explosion. Stark's camera flickered dangerously as he was thrown back down the corridor, ricocheting off the walls and leaving human-shaped dents in his wake. To his credit, Stark was back up in seconds and sprinting down the hallway, despite the concrete that rained down from the ceiling in chunks that would crush a man's skull. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop as his way was blocked by a solid wall of concrete and rebar.

"No way through, Barton," Stark said.

"_Get_ through," Clint retorted.

Stark sighed, but he stepped back a few paces. "I'm sending you my mechanic bill." The Iron Man suit whistled as Stark diverted power to the chest cannon. The camera flickered again as he shot the pulse right at the base of the rubble wall. The screen went grainy as concrete was instantly pulverized into dust. Clint couldn't see much, but he heard Stark's boots clanging against the ground.

"Better send a medic with that clean-up crew," Stark said.

As the dust settled, Clint and Fury were able to make out a figure on the ground. Stark's external lights caught the red of her hair through the dust.

"Natasha."


	7. Chapter 7

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written by: Katerinaki

Published: February 19, 2013

Beta'ed: No

**Note: I apologize for the delay, but I wrote myself into a corner. However, I have since begun to dig myself a tunnel, out of the corner and will hopefully be working on this a bit more. Thanks for sticking with me, and big thanks to ladygris for the "writer's block" advice.**

Part 7:

Natasha hated hospitals. Hospitals meant you did something wrong, or somebody with you did something wrong. Someone, somewhere along the way fucked up and when Natasha fucked up, innocent people died. That was the nature of her job.

She was trying to remember when exactly everything had gone sideways, but the head trauma had scrambled her brains pretty thoroughly. She could just remember bits and pieces. She could hear the rats up ahead, but there was something weird about their steps. It took Natasha about three seconds to realize that there were only two sets of footsteps echoing through the corridor instead of three. Half a second later she was ducking as one of the escorts jumped out of a hidden niche in the concrete wall and swung a crowbar at her head. That would've been it, if it hadn't been for her training. As she ducked, she smashed her boot into her attacker's shin. It didn't break, but Natasha was fairly certain her rats up ahead could hear their buddy's howl of pain. She didn't waste any time, striking the floating rib as she grabbed the arm with the crowbar. She shattered the elbow and dislocated the shoulder in one strike before throwing him over her hip, face first into the floor. Just to be thorough, she made sure to take the crowbar to his temple. He was definitely down for the count, likely dead.

Crowbar in hand, Natasha sprinted on after the two that were getting away. Their footsteps were nearly inaudible by now. This was where her memory became patchy. She swore as she rounded the corner she heard someone speak. A woman, it sounded like, and it definitely wasn't English, though Natasha really had no way of knowing what it was by now. The next memory Natasha had was of an explosion and being blown back against the wall. Rubble fell on her and some of it must've hit her head because she'd been conscious when she hit the ground, but not by the time Stark had supposedly found her. She'd never live that down.

Fury had debriefed her as soon as she woke up. He wanted to try and get as clear a picture as he could, before her brain tried to fill in the gaps in her memory with stuff that didn't actually happen. It wasn't the first time Natasha had woken to a SHIELD handler. Usually it was Coulson, but...

Clint wasn't there when she woke. Jacqueline had gotten the part she wanted in that play she was auditioning for and they were out celebrating. The way Pepper said it, she seemed to expect Natasha to leap up and dash out to assassinate someone. But Natasha found herself surprisingly calm about the whole thing. Maybe it was the pain meds. Regardless, Natasha wasn't about to go out and kill anyone anytime soon. She was benched now, like Clint. Her collarbone had been smashed by falling debris and right now her arm was set in a sling and she was off physical exertion for a while. It left her feeling restless, even though she was by now out of the bed and allowed to walk around, if not much more.

Her walking, naturally led to thinking. In the beginning she thought about the mission, trying to determine what she might've done differently. Her first mistake was to go flying around that corner. She probably tripped a wire somewhere and nearly gotten herself blown up. Her second mistake was to go down alone, but that was beyond her control. Her wingman had been back at HQ and the others were all busy securing the hostages. Of course, that train of thought got her thinking about her "wingman". He'd eventually stopped by to see how she was doing. He seemed anxious and didn't really say much when he did. It was very strange. Every other time he asked how she was doing and they talked over the mission together and decided just when things had gone wrong and how they could fix it so it didn't happen in the future. This time he stared at her mostly. Natasha was sure he wanted to say something, but he never did.

Two days after waking up, Natasha was let out of the medical bay and Clint seemed to make an attempt to bring things back to "normal". They watched movies together, talked over various topics, and all around just tried to be companionable again. But their "normal" was marred by Clint's excursions out to see Jacqueline. During those times, Pepper seemed to make it her goal to distract Natasha with "girl stuff", whether it was shopping or just chatting over a bottle of wine.

"...there's this new boutique down on 83rd that I'd love to go check out," Pepper was saying.

"Sure," Natasha replied, swirling her wine around in her glass.

"We could go after I finish up at work tomorrow."

"Sounds great."

"Excuse me, Miss Potts."

"Yes JARVIS?" Pepper said.

"I feel compelled to inform you that Director Fury is on his way up."

"Thank you JARVIS."

Pepper and Natasha finished their wine as the private elevator doors opened and the director of SHIELD stepped out.

"JARVIS, call the team together," Fury said.

"They are on their way, Agent Fury."

Natasha left Pepper behind, following Fury down to the secure room. Fury only ever came to Stark Tower with Avengers orders. Clint and Natasha both got their individual assignments at the SHIELD building, and the others didn't really go out on their own for much. Maybe SHIELD had a lead on the two rats that had gotten away. They were still at large, having slipped through an escape tunnel that wasn't on the blueprints.

Fury and Natasha waited for the whole team to assemble before JARVIS sealed the door and Fury called up a model of the base. This blueprint was more complete, showing the tunnels below the base that had not been on the original plan.

"Our analysis teams have mapped the underground tunnels that were not on our original schematics," Fury said. "Agent Romanoff followed two terrorists down to here, at which point the terrorists blew a localized explosive, collapsing the tunnel and giving themselves time to escape. After speaking with the hostages, it was determined that these tunnels were a new addition, in the event of an attack where normal evacuation routes were cut off. They were not monitored as part of the normal security system to keep their existence from potential invaders."

"If that's true, then how did the terrorists know about them and we didn't?" Rogers asked.

"We're working on finding that out. Unfortunately we have bigger problems. After a thorough search, it was determined that the terrorists, who we believe to be a break-off sect of HYDRA, stole a highly experimental nerve agent called Novichok-10."

Natasha nearly broke the armrest off her chair with her good arm. She was familiar with _novichok_ agents. They were created by the Soviets during the 70s and 80s, designed to be undetectable and penetrate all protective gear. Novichok-5 and -7 were supposed to by eight times more powerful than VX, the nerve agent the United States had at the time.

If terrorists, possibly HYDRA, had this newer, improved form of the _novichok_ agents, the whole world was in deep shit, and that was putting it lightly.

"Do we know where they are?" Rogers asked. He might not have known exactly what Novichok-10 was, but he had his fair share of experience with nerve agents.

"Unfortunately we weren't able to capture any of HYDRA's agents. You might remember, Captain, HYDRA's particularly fond of cyanide pills. However, we are interviewing the hostages and as always, keeping our eyes and ears open. Now that we know what we're looking for, it shouldn't take too long for them to show up on our radar."

"Except by then they could've already released the Novichok-10," said Banner.

"Thankfully, not," Fury replied. "They were only able to get a small sample. If they want to do something other than kill a dog or a cat, they're going to have to make more. With that sample, they can, but it will take some time."

"And this is where the Doc and I come in," Stark said, swinging his feet down off the table and standing up with a groan. He'd been moaning and groaning since the mission, during the few times that he was out of his lab. Apparently the Iron Man suit had taken a beating.

"We'll need the formula if we're going to come up with a way to counteract it," Dr. Banner added, also rising.

Fury nodded. "You'll have it. In the meantime, all food and drinks will come through SHIELD. Our notes from the base scientists say the agent can't be transmitted through gas or vapour, it's a powder. Try and limit your time spent outside SHIELD secure facilities. In all likelihood, HYDRA's priority target will be this team."

Natasha looked over at Clint, who seemed to be frowning down at the table. Of the team, he probably spent the most time away from Stark Tower. Natasha knew from Pepper that he and Jacqueline were supposed to go to a show tonight. For some reason, she couldn't really imagine Clint sitting in a play or a musical. The closest approximation she could come to was the mission to Munich when she had attended an opera, _Der Freischütz_, with a German arms dealer who had been looking to have a _friendly_ night on the town before closing a nuclear weapons deal with the Hezbollah. Of course, Clint hadn't actually been _in_ the opera house. He'd actually been on the roof of a nearby building, watching through his scope. The thought of Clint, perched up high in a Broadway theatre, maybe in the rafters of the stage itself, brought a smile to her face enough that Rogers looked at her with concern. She waved him off, however and left, the meeting adjourned when Stark and Banner had left.

Three days later, she went for a walk, only now she had to confine it to Stark Tower. Granted, there was a lot of space inside Stark Tower, but with monotonous hallways that all looked the same, she couldn't help but feel claustrophobic. It didn't help that she still had her arm in a sling. Clint would be even worse, though at least he didn't have to wear that knee brace anymore. Neither of them liked being confined to a space. At the back of her mind, Natasha knew that it was really her own fault. In all likelihood, she'd been chasing the HYDRA agents who had the Novichok-10. As she climbed up to the very top of Stark Tower to get some fresh air, her mind kept coming back to all the things she'd done wrong, all of the things that she could've done that might've changed the outcome.

It didn't surprise her to find Clint up on the roof. Down below New York spread out all around them as far as the eye could see, the ultimate viewpoint. Clint leaned against the railing as the wind picked at his hair and t-shirt. He wore his glasses, but Natasha knew his eyes would be roving over the city below them, skipping over each person before moving on.

"Hey Tasha," he murmured as she joined him at the rail. "How's the arm?"

Natasha would've shrugged, but she'd quickly learned that it wasn't a good idea with a broken clavicle. "Same," she said shortly.

"Yeah, those are a bitch. Remember—"

"Havana? Yeah. How many floors was it?"

"Four."

"We got lucky there."

"Yeah, got that right."

Natasha followed his gaze outwards. Down below was a line of street vendors, set up for the swarm of newspaper reporters and rabid fans that always seemed to crowd the entrance of Stark Tower these days. Clint seemed to be watching a scuffle between a news crew and one of the vendors, who was blocking their van with his cart.

"Have you talked to her?" Natasha asked.

"This morning. She's disappointed."

"It's part of the job. She'll understand."

"Yeah, I guess. She—"Clint's focus snapped upwards and Natasha followed, immediately on edge by the abrupt change. Up over their heads, dark storm clouds were gathering at a rate that could mean only one thing. Clint and Natasha backed away from the rail just as a bolt of thunder streaked across the sky. They just made it underneath the patio's overhang when another bolt struck the tower itself. When the spots in their vision cleared away, they were welcomed by the sight of a familiar, tall and muscular man.

"My friends," Thor greeted, though his smile fell when he saw the sling around Natasha's shoulder and the fading bruises on Clint's face. "What has happened?"


	8. Chapter 8

Rumor Has It: Avengers Fanfiction

Written by: Katerinaki

Published: May 6, 2013

Beta'ed: No

**Note: This one is short, but its the beginning of the end. Get ready for the big climax coming.**

Part 8:

"I do not understand. This Novichok agent, it can harm people?"

"_Kill_ them, more like it," Natasha replied.

Thor frowned. "And the group, HYDRA. This is the same group that Steve fought, the one who first began to use the Tesseract to create weapons."

"That's right," Rogers said.

"This is most troubling. It seems I have returned at an opportune time." He looked up at Clint and Natasha. "I am sorry you were hurt in my absence, my friends."

"It's not your fault," Natasha replied. She looked guiltily down at the floor and Clint nearly groaned. Trust Tasha to blame herself for a bad mission. The weapons base really wasn't her fault. Clint had gone over it in his head over and over. There were a lot of things that went wrong, not the least of which, he hadn't been there to watch her back. And that wasn't Tasha's fault either. He should've realized that she was upset and not fought her. Or really he should've just defended himself better. He'd let himself get lazy with Jacqui around. It was a lapse on his part, not Tasha's.

"Regardless of whose fault it is, the Novichok is still out there in enemy hands," Rogers said. "Stark and Dr. Banner are working on a way to counteract it, but until then we all have to stay put."

Looking at Thor, Clint got a wild idea in his head. Thor was big, pretty tough, a god in essence. "Do you think it'll work on him?" he asked.

As he asked, Stark and Banner both chose that moment to come up from the lab for a break, and a scotch in Stark's case.

"Probably," Banner replied. "Novichok is a nerve agent. It works by inhibiting the enzyme acetylcholinesterase and preventing the normal breakdown of acetylcholine which—"

"English, please," Rogers interrupted. Clint had to agree. His high school chemistry was...lacking.

"It makes your muscles contract," said Stark, coming around from behind the bar with his drink in hand. "Including things like your heart."

"In the past, they've been able to use anticholinergic drugs, like Atropine, to counteract the effects," Banner explained. "But in this case the new Novichok compound acts too quickly. The Atropine wouldn't be able to react fast enough. Not to mention treating with Atropine is dangerous. We're working on a way to counter the agent before it's introduced; provide the body with a means of countering the nerve agent before it inhibits the breakdown."

"Like a vaccine?" asked Rogers.

"Not really," said Stark.

"But it would work in a similar way. It would only be a temporary fix, and we'd need to keep introducing it. Considering that Thor has a human-like anatomy, I would bet the nerve agent works on him too, it just might take longer considering how much stress his body can endure."

Rogers nodded. "So our best bet is to still find HYDRA."

"At this point, yes."

Everybody looked at Clint and Natasha. But Clint could only shrug. He'd been stuck in Stark Tower just like the rest of them and had been getting all the same updates as them; that is to say, no updates.

"Don't look at me. You know how Fury is."

Rogers groaned, sitting back in his chair. "So we're stuck here until Fury can give us a location on HYDRA."

The others around the table didn't look any happier than Clint himself felt about it. He was getting stir-crazy. He would even settle for a walk around the block at this point. Stark had a gym and a shooting range, so he could keep up with his training just as well as he would've at a SHIELD base. But every day was starting to feel like Groundhogs Day and he swore Stark made all the hallways look alike just to mess with people. He was becoming frustrated and that made him short. Things were becoming strained between Jacqui and him. He had to amend his usual rule about calling her. Now he made his calls from up on the top of Stark Tower. He felt like he had more privacy out there. He tried to sit and listen to her talk about her acting and how excited she was for the Les Misérables revival, but hearing her talk about her life only seemed to emphasize his isolation. He couldn't say _why_ he was stuck in Stark Tower and he couldn't tell her when he was getting out. They'd cancelled so many plans already. Just the night before Jacqui had wanted to go out to a club, but Clint had been stuck here, playing Blackjack with Stark, Bruce, and Steve (and no matter how much he denied it, Stark was definitely counting cards).

Clint took his bow up to the top deck of Stark Tower, hoping that some fresh air and a familiar personal duty would calm his nerves a bit. The rocks up on top of the tower still held a burnt spot where the Tesseract portal had been opened. Despite all the reconstruction, Stark had left that part alone. Clint skirted the spot, not wanting to even go close to a place where Loki had done magic. The rocks were a reminder to him of an incident that he would rather not think about again. He hadn't felt so helpless since he was four and never wanted to feel that way again. He settled down on the edge of the roof and unfurled his bow. Then, with practiced hands, he unstrung it and set about caring for both his bow and his arrows. He didn't have to do so much with this bow as he would've with the old wooden one he'd learned on, but that just meant he took extra time with each task.

Being involved in his cleaning didn't mean he was oblivious to his surroundings. Far from it. He heard her as she was coming up the service stairway. She hardly made a sound and that was how Clint knew it was Natasha. Thor, Rogers, and Stark made a lot of noise; Thor and Rogers because of their size and Stark because he couldn't shut up for more than five seconds. Banner never came up and Pepper avoided the roof; it was an unspoken rule that nobody but the Avengers went up there.

"Hey Tasha," Clint murmured as she sat down on the edge of the roof with him. She dangled her feet out into the air like he did.

"Broken?" she asked, nodding towards his bow.

"Nope," Clint shook his head. "Just making sure everything fine for when we finally get out of here. Stark and Banner better have that vaccine or whatever it is soon."

"The doc won't clear me to go anyways," Natasha grumbled, pulling at a loose string on the edge of her arm sling.

"Did he say how long?"

"About three weeks. Then PT and fitness tests before I can go out again." She huffed, ripping a string off and tossing it over the edge of the building. "I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault."

"Yeah it was. And don't give me any of your bullshit."

"If the Helicarrier wasn't my fault then this wasn't yours." He ran his rag over his bow one last time, making sure it shined despite the matte black paint before folding it up and replacing his most prized possession back in its case. When it was safely away he pulled out his arrows and began checking over each of the tips, but he was more careful with these. Didn't want one exploding in his face. Fury would kill him if he blasted a hand off playing with his tech.

"At least Thor's back," Clint commented. "That'll help, when it comes down to a fight." When Fury finally gave them a target. He didn't say that, though, because all it would do was make Natasha even more upset with herself. Reconnaissance, spy work like this was her speciality. Of all of them, Natasha should be out in the field right now.

Clint's phone buzzed in his pocket and he paused. He knew who it was. Natasha looked down at the source of the disturbance and he could tell she knew who it was as well. Anyone else Clint would speak to was downstairs. They would hardly need to call his cell phone. The phone continued to buzz as Clint fought over whether to answer it or not. Natasha waited silently until the buzzing eventually stopped as Clint's voicemail picked up.

He felt horrible for letting Jacqui go to voicemail. Especially when he really wasn't occupied. But he didn't have anything he could tell her. He knew what she wanted but he couldn't give it to her. He couldn't go see her and he couldn't tell her why. Jacqui deserved better.

"Trouble?" Natasha asked softly.

"The same. I don't like having to tell her 'no' again."

Clint expected Natasha to remind him again that it was part of the job and that Jacqui would understand once they had this situation under control. But she didn't.

"Do you want to go see her?" she asked.

Clint looked up, surprised. "You mean..."

"Between the two of us, I think we could do it. I doubt you want her coming here."

"No," Clint said immediately. The Avengers were a target all the time, but more so now. The last thing Clint wanted was for Jacqui to be added to that list. The more she stayed away from the tower, the better. Clint could blend in when he was out and about. But nothing about Stark's tower was subtle.

Natasha reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, tossing it into his lap. "Call her," she told him. "Set something up for tonight."

Clint frowned at his phone. They shouldn't do this, especially with the _novichok_ out in the hands of an unknown group. But if he didn't...well Clint doubted Jacqui would wait for much longer. She was young and beautiful and deserved to enjoy her life, not wait around for her boyfriend on self-imposed house-arrest. And he just wanted to see her. He wanted to hold her and hear her voice in person, not garbled over a phone line.

He picked up the phone and hit the redial. It rang once, twice, before he heard her voice.

"_Clint_?"

"Hi baby. I'm sorry I didn't pick up; I was in the gym."

"_I thought you might be. I just wanted to tell you—"_

"Are you busy tonight?"

The line was quiet for a moment. "_No_," Jacqui replied, and Clint could hear the hope in her voice.

"Do you remember that place we went on our second date?"

"_In Soho? Of course."_

"Can you meet me there, say 8?"

"_Absolutely, Clint. I love you."_

"Love you too. I'll see you tonight."

_"Au revoir, mon Coeur_."

Clint hung up and exhaled and for the first time since the disastrous mission to the Pyrenees, he smiled.


End file.
